


Associated Weather

by factorielle



Category: One Piece
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-30
Updated: 2005-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:29:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/factorielle/pseuds/factorielle





	Associated Weather

When he was at sea, which was most of the time, Sanji didn't care much about the weather. Sun meant Nami-_san_ would be wearing one of her delightful bath suits, and he was more likely to be called out to rescue their moron of a captain from the sea he'd fallen into again. Rain meant the ladies would keep him company in the galley as he worked on the next meal, but so would the rest of the crew, noisy and annoying as they were when he was running short on time or supplies. There were good and bad things to be said about every type of weather, and in the end it balanced out, so he didn't care.

On land, things were different. On land sun meant that the water supply was diminishing, rain was cold and threatened to induce sickness on a weakened body, fog blocked his sight and forced him to strain his other senses to avoid missing his saving grace.

The shitty old man had tried his best to kick the memories out of him, but all he'd done was teach Sanji how to hide the uneasiness under a layer of bustling overactivity. Sanji knew it was stupid, and weak, and illogical. You could only live on fish and rainwater for so long, and he knew that land was were ships were built, wheat and vegetables grown, and cattle bred. Where humans were meant to live, they who were so frail and powerless in front of the immense sea.

He knew, but deep down it put him on edge, every time.

Of course he'd never say it. He'd never tell them that he felt unstable whenever his feet were on solid ground instead of a swaying deck. That every time they ate away from their ship he caught himself trying to figure out how long he could make the food last. That the reason he loved Nami-_san_ so much was that she was just like the waves she was named after and controlled so well, beautiful, temperamental and unpredictable.

That it was grass, not _marimo_, that the fuckhead's hair reminded Sanji of, and the way he moved when he trained or fought might be stupid and graceless, but it was also the very personification of a landslide, powerful and deadly and unstoppable.

He'd never tell them.

The door opened as he was cutting the last of his vegetables for the evening's stew and trying very hard not to notice that they were just about to reach yet another island.

"Oi, shithead, we're docking. Come help." He turned around with the intent to wave his knife and snap that he was _busy_ and couldn't they do it without him? But when he looked, the moron's cheeks were tinted with red and his hair strewn with melting white. And that, because snow had never come to the dry rock he'd spent so much time on, didn't mean hunger and despair and putting on a front so that his discomfort would pass unnoticed. It meant snowball fights and hot cocoa and the not-so-distant memory of overwhelming relief and pink beauty.

So he nodded with a slight smile, put his knife down, and ignored the _marimo_'s very obviously exaggerated surprise at his lack of aggressiveness as he headed out.


End file.
